


No Rest For The Wretched

by Treegoats



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Dissociation, Gen, POV Theon Greyjoy, PTSD, Theon Greyjoy-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26611495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Treegoats/pseuds/Treegoats
Summary: Theon's first weeks after escaping Winterfell. Reek tries his best! So does Theon, maybe.Warning for Theon's post-everything, and casual insensitivities from Yara "a few bad years" Greyjoy (love her!!! but you know <3)
Relationships: Past Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy - Relationship, Theon Greyjoy & Yara Greyjoy
Comments: 10
Kudos: 42





	No Rest For The Wretched

"Home," he said he would go.

\--

Home--

what a complicated proposition that would've been for Theon of House Greyjoy ward of Eddard Stark of Winterfell,

(but how simple a matter for Ramsay's Reek, who knows home is to be at his Master's side, home is his Master's fist, home is his Master's--)

Theon would have mocked the notion, back in the days. (Better to mock what you can't have than to covet; though covet he did, and look where that got him--) Aren't Ironborn meant to rove and to wander, to fuck in this town today, to raid another tomorrow? What's a home, but the endless expanse of the ocean, the endless possibility of the sea? And what did Theon even know about the Ironborn ways? Nothing, nothing-- snatched away too young to learn, and isn't that the truth.

It doesn't matter now. Our ways, your ways, this House, that House, your father, my father. Oh, will you love me, please look at me lovingly. That was a long time ago. That's not his problems any more.

His problems now are:  
* Is he a man or a dog?  
* Is he alive or dead?  
* Will he even make it anywhere with his ribs pressed through his skin and his wounds unhealing and the thin stinking rags that don't at all protect from the Northern wind?

He thinks  
* Probably the latter  
* Probably the latter  
* Probably not

But "home" -- the Iron Islands, that is, this sad brutal childhood home of his, not the other ones -- was the only direction he could think of. 

tragic, tragic, tragic, but it is what it is

 _Go home and rest.  
_ _Finally, finally, go home and rest._

and if he dies on the way, well, everything is better, better, than

\--

Theon won't ever remember how he made it to the coast, how he crossed the icy forests, the winterly North, the enemy lines, with one horse, no friends, no provisions and dressed in rags.

Theon wouldn't've have made it. Reek is sure of it. Theon was too afraid of pain and of death.

So is Reek, because he has a body, but Reek was birthed from pain. He was born from the ruins of mangled flesh. Reek can stumble through the snow on wounded feet some more. Reek can cling to his horse, feverish, starved, and let himself be led through the woods, and if he knows he must not let go, he will not let go.

Reek is assuming the Master knows  
and it's a game and he will find him and  
there will be hurt  
but he remembers one command:

run and survive  
go home

(whose command? he can't say, but)

You must follow your commands.

\--

Every breath he takes is painful and stolen, he owes the world his death.

Maybe that's why winter and hunger can't kill him: He's a ghost.  
Maybe what is dead can never die.

Maybe the forest helps him. Ravens flutter through the sky. The woods beckon the way to the sea, maybe. They take pity, they let him pass through. What even is a man. What even is a life.

he doesn't deserve he doesn't deserve he doesn't deserve

_You don't, but you still have a job to do._

\--

It takes Theon several tries to find a captain who will take him with, a ragged beggar claiming to be an Ironborn prince.

"Yeah, right, and I'm the Queen of Dorne," one laughs and just about doesn't smash his face in for the disrespect he brings to House Greyjoy. Oh, disrespect he brings all right.

"Why the hell not," one decides, finally, and it's less the kindness of his heart than the lust for a reward or maybe just curiosity. "As long as you make yourself useful," and Reek, Reek knows to make himself useful, always always very useful.

\--

"Gods, but if knew how mad you were, you wouldn't have set foot on my ship," the captain says, when they disembark. He looks nauseous at the sight of him.

Theon can't remember why

\--

He has trouble with the steps up, with the slippery stone under his feet. His legs tremble. He must pause for breath often. He's weak, of course, maybe also afraid. 

The air is black against grey, the hard stone oppresses. Waves crash against the cliffs. He can taste the sea on his lips. _Home_ (?)

Balon Greyjoy is dead, they told him. That's good news because his father would have killed him, probably, but his sister might not.

(He's not sure if that's good news.)

\--

Yara is not at all happy to see him, and why would she be.

"Tell me what you want!!!" she shouts, and the answer is

 _Please let me rest  
_ _Let me come home and rest  
I'm so tired_

but that's not what she wants to hear and Reek knows to give the correct response   
(the one that won't get you hurt)*  
*maybe :

"You should rule the Iron Islands. Let me help you."

It is fine, though, for it is true. Yara _should_ rule the Iron Islands, and he _does_ want to help. Yara was the only person (the _only_ one, before Sansa) who tried to save Theon from Ramsay. He would do anything to help her.

It's just pain is a crystal sound through his ears, pain is his vision cracked unreal, exhaustion is a freeze in his bones, and he is so, so tired.

\--

Her very first command, before anything else, is:

"You're disgusting. Go wash yourself."

and--  
he thinks:

* Lord Ramsay wants him dirty  
* Yara wants him clean  
* he doesn't deserve  
* It was an order  
* shut up stop crying we're Theon Greyjoy Balon Greyjoy's third and last living son and heir Prince of the Iron Islands and must look the part  
* TERROR

Theon blinks and the sun has set and risen again and the problem remained unsolved.

Yara is upset.

\--

stop crying stop crying stop crying  
There is no _time_ for this  
Kingsmoot, remember?  
Help Yara, remember?

A new try:

Remove your rags. Approach. Enter.

Reek remembers: The first bath, after everything, after--- - (after you betrayed Yara) and he was so scared, so scared, so so so scared, so certain of imminent hurt, so certain that any second now the pain will start, it will it will it will ,,,

but Ramsay was _so_ gentle,  
so _very_ kind and _gentle_ and _good_ ,  
and he merely asked of him this one thing:   
> pretend to be Theon Greyjoy.

You did this once, you can do it again.

\--

He paints the water rust with old blood and grime and worse and he can't stop trembling trembling trembling and there's not much he can do about his wounds really and it takes him _forever_ to cut the hair  
-because of his fingers  
-because of his terror  
and it's harder when he's alone and it's not Master Ramsay washing him because he  
keeps losing track of time  
is very afraid  
and the Greyjoy clothes are too wide on his frame.  
But presentable as Theon Grejoy he becomes.

"Fucking finally," says Yara.

\--

"Are you ready?" asks Yara, and Reek-pretending-to-be-Theon-Greyjoy nods. Reek is always ready because Reek gets no say on which things happen to him in which order and when. Reek just has to endure and to obey. He is readiness incarnate.

\--

It's like Moat Cailin all over again, Reek all dressed up as Greyjoy Prince, trying to stand upright and awake when his bones want to crumble, and bile rises up his throat at the thought and it's a good thing he doesn't eat because he'd certainly vomit otherwise  
except it's NOT, it's _not_ like Moat Cailin:

today, he is serving the Ironborn Queen to be, not betraying his people.

(Reek doesn't have people, though, has no kin, Reek belongs to Master Ramsay Bolton, who made him who named him)  
(shut up)

You must: Pretend to be Theon Greyjoy, for the sake of Yara Greyjoy, Theon Greyjoy's sister (your sister). You must do this for her (for you). You must do this under the contemptuous, hard gazes of a cliff full of Ironborn captains, each a King upon the deck of his own ship, each hateful of you. Each disgusted by what you represent.

Disgust, you're used to, though, and what is disgust compared to the flaying knife? ha!

So when it's his turn to speak, Reek stands tall and lets his voice ring loud and holds a speech like Theon would have, except better, because Theon's speeches were about Theon's glory, but this here is for Yara.

And for a minute, it is glorious

Under the roars of the crowd (YARA YARA YARA) she looks at him in a way she has _never_ looked at him before.

\--

Euron-- his eye stares unblinking, his lips crawl, and Reek knows, _knows_ these eyes and he knows that laugh

(They defy him, he has this to say for himself at least; he helps, he does, but they are defeated, and they will get hunted,)

\--

They must flee, through the caves, through the water, through the sand, and he can't keep up, not with his damaged bones, not with his shrivelled flesh, but keep up he must, and so he keeps up,   
(Reek knows how to do this)

They man the ships, they row and they sail.

He's on the run, again.

\--

So much for _Go home and rest._

But then, Theon always knew he doesn't deserve rest.  
(and what even is a home?)

Now, it's serve Yara.  
It's make yourself useful. It's work.  
It's simple, really, it's  
what a gift it is to have a purpose that is not -  
\- -

  
(Ramsay's memory is always red hot under his skin,  
always ready to obliterate the world)

He remembers his knots, in spite of everything. He remembers the smell of the sea. They eat fish broth, he remembers it, an ancient taste, from before, from before everything. Their ale is sharp and cold.

\--

Yara looks at him differently, now, after the Kingsmoot. He can't quite place it, but maybe, maybe, _maybe_ like she doesn't entirely despise him. (not that it would matter; he deserves--)

"Theon," she says, and he's grateful to be reminded of a name. He tries to look at her, because she wants that from him. He folds his trembling hands against the railing; she doesn't like him trembling. She already looks upset just looking at him, which makes him tremble more.

"Theon, little brother, I'm aware you're still injured and I know you've had no time to recover," she starts. He quivers and says: "I'm sorry," even though it doesn't make sense, as reply, not really.

Yara eyes blaze with sudden anger. " _Fuck_ your apologies!" she says, not even harshly. He still flinches and his teeth chatter. Incredulity rising in her voice, she spits: "Stop your quivering!!" but that only makes him quiver more. She looks at him aghast, like she still can't believe her eyes at the sight of him. "Gods, what do you think I am?" she says, finally.

He wisely stops himself from saying _I'm sorry_ another time.  
It's not what _she_ is, it's--  
it's--  
He starts to cry at what is/isn't/was, he doesn't want to, but he can't stop himself, and that only makes him cry more;   
_wretched wretched wretched_

Yara's knuckles are tensed white against the railing as she averts her eyes and levels her voice into barely controlled calm. "Theon, I only came to tell you, on my ship, if a man is injured, he doesn't have to work. That's all." He nods, dazed through his temporal distortions, and Yara, with sometimes like helplessness in her eyes, quickly takes her leave.

It's understandable. She got the weakness beaten out of her like the good Ironborn heir he never was; how could she deal with what he has become?

What _has_ he become?  
* a ghost  
* a weapon of war  
* a dead man  
* his master's bitch  
* a traitor and a murderer  
* a snivelling dog  
* rotting meat  
* pain  
* the wretched mark of atrocity  
*

no, the only thing he can do is work  
it's either that or be nothing, nothing at all

\--

It rains for days, whipping cords against wood and sail. Winds furiously dance against their ships. The sun comes out again, like a sweet apology. Yara uses each weather to her advantage, her coat flutters, her hair is bleached with salt, a Greyjoy queen.

He can't sleep,  
and when he does he screams,  
and he can't keep food down,  
and he can't always remember his names,  
any of his names,  
and his flesh is rotting tearing piercing ,  
and time keeps crumbling, #

the world keeps crumbling, he's not here  
and  
and ,

  
The wooden boards under his back rock and sway and the air tastes of salt and the sails groan in the wind.

He presses his hands against the floor, searching for the world. He inhales the smell of sea and tries to remember where he isn't.

\--

Yara finds him, throws her shadow over him, and, without any preliminaries, asks: "What did he do to you?"

Theon lies trembling on the floor as he remembers Sansa and her identical question and he remembers Sansa and his inactions and he remembers--

pain / love / pain

Yara's voice cuts through time: "Theon!!"

Yara is kneeling now, and the shadows moved, and the sun paled, (he must have lost time again), and she looks very grim and intent.

"Theon," she repeats, firmly. "Theon, sit up and look at me."

Because it is a command, he obeys. She kneels at his front, leather creaking. Her calloused fingers rest on her knees.

"Theon," she repeats. "Am I your captain?" she asks, not unkindly.

"Yes," he whispers.

"Speak up!" she orders. " _Am I your captain?_ "

" _Yes_ ," he manages, more forcefully. She nods.

"Am I your Queen?" she asks, eyes burning. 

"Yes," he nods and he can feel his throat trembling.

"Look at me!" she commands, and she is salt and stone and steel, and he forces his jumping eyes to look at her, to really look at her.

"Am I your sister?" she asks.

" _Yes_ ," he shivers.

"Damn right," she agrees. "Now come with me," she orders, and Theon obediently peels himself from the floor.

She leads him below deck, to her cabins. Theon is wobbling and quaking, but Yara is without violence. She offers him a seat. She offers him a drink.

"Theon," she says. She looks very determined. "Theon, they took you away when you were eight, and you briefly came back, and then they took you away again." Her gaze is unyielding. "These Northern Lords... I will find the Dragon Queen, and together we will _massacre_ them. But first I _need_ to know what they did to my brother."

His throat is ash and blood and Yara is getting her stories mixed up-- isn't she? isn't she? and anyhow, his terror is speechless. He could not answer even if he wanted to.

"If you can't speak of it, then show me, at least," she says, softly. "Show me what is visible of it."

The ship is rolling under their feet and he sits frozen.

"Show me!!!" she shouts, suddenly, and he hastens, hastens to comply.

She stares at him, at his damaged bones, his hollow ribs, his mangled flesh, his missing bits. "All right," she nods, eyes very dark, pupils wide like murder. "We will butcher them," she decides.

Theon, though, is floating away from his shame. Yara takes one of his arms, and it's half a world away that she gently twists it in her hands, runs her fingers over his scars, over the jut of bones. She doesn't ask him if it still hurts. "I'm sorry," he whispers, through the wool in his mouth, the faint ring in his ears.

Yara drops his hand, sudden. "Wrong answer," she decides, and Theon is jolted even further back. "Theon, _we_ will make _them_ sorry, for even _touching_ you, do you hear me?" Yara corrects.

Theon can only tremble. "I'm ruined," he hears himself mumble, from under water. Yara scoffs, rolls her shoulders, hardens her jaw. "Oh, _stop_ your whining," she snaps, and that jolts Theon back into attention, because now that's a reproach he can make sense of. "You got two arms and two legs and two eyes and a tongue and sure he carved into you somewhat good, but you'll get strong again, Theon," Yara decides for him.

He stares at her. He shivers in something like fear and something like indignation. "You don't _know_..." he protests, weakly.

"Shut up!" says Yara and throws him his shirt. "You're Ironborn. You'll rise again. We'll get our revenge, little brother."

As if things were just that simple, just like that.

There's nothing Theon can say to this, nothing that would--  
change anything, so he just nods.

\--

Reek is curled up in the shadows. He shouldn't rest so much, even though Yara ordered him to, because it can't be allowed to just rest. There will be retribution. Any minute now. It will be bad. As long as he's not currently getting hurt, though... He presses his face against the wooden planks, and it smells different different  
(it scares him; it's all wrong  
warm wood should be cold stone and  
salt should be rot  
and  
seagulls should be rats  
when will Lord Ramsay come and get him, finally?  
when ? ? ? )  
But Reek knows to take any mercy offered. Theon would have wished for his pride, but Reek needs no pride. Theon would have wanted to understand, but Reek is stupid, so stupid, always making mistakes, he wouldn't dare try to understand.

See: He's curled in a corner in the shadows, not currently getting hurt. That is relevant.

\--

Yara wants to slap Reek every time she sees him, Reek knows, and for some reason she doesn't. It's incomprehensible.

"Don't hurt me," he tells her, when she startles him, because he forgets, where this is, what this is, what  
and  
it makes her _so angry_.

"Stop begging! You're an Ironborn prince!" she shouts at him.  
He cowers because he's not and Lord Ramsay will punish him for her words.

She wants Reek to be wild (???) not meek  
She wants Reek to be strong (???) not weak  
She wants Reek Ironborn, risen again, harder and stronger

He tries to act more like Theon, for her. Reek-pretending-to-be-Theon-Greyjoy-only-better. It's hard, because what even was Theon Greyjoy?

And he's very, very tired.

\--

 _Wretched pretender_ , she called him. _Find Theon Greyjoy for me_ , she asks of him. The _real_ Theon Greyjoy, she specifies, and who is that supposed to be?

Reek nods, he will try, he will try.

But truly Theon Greyjoy never stayed when things were too painful. That was always all on Reek.

\--

Theon (not real, never real, but he will do, he must,) emerges and all is pain and the sun blinds him and he retches into the sea.

He tries to collect the shreds of time. He's on the run with Yara, yes. Euron with the evil eye, he is hunting for them. He remembers that. He spoke for Yara, no, _Reek_ spoke-- and hot ungrateful shame swallows him at the thought of Reek.

Then-- quivering, retching, crying, shivering; all that. Yara told him: _Stop your whining._ A surge of bitterness. His body has been carved pain and is it _all his fault ?? --_

and why wouldn't it be, after what he did?

Here comes the guilt, like a black wave crashing down.  
Theon _remembers_. 

He's dressed in black and leather. Greyjoy kraken, worn boots, yes. He's a traitor and a murderer, he is. He will be brought to justice, eventually, hopefully. It will be so good to die. For now, he helps Yara.

That will do.

\--

Reek watches.

Yara looks pleased with them. An Ironborn Prince, they are. She looks at them with trust, sometimes with pride. Reek's heart flutters at the thought of Ramsay, would _he_ be pleased, too? Oh no, he wouldn't. _He wouldn't,_ he won't be, he won't be!!!! and Theon starts to tremble because of him, because of Reek's memories, and that displeases Yara and---

 _wretched Reek, wretched, wretched_. Theon tries to kick Reek away like one would a bad dog. Tries to bury and chain him down the dungeon. After everything.

but Reek, he could be a kraken, ready to engulf,  
he could be the sea monster, who swallows them all, Theon Greyjoy and all,  
he is the knowledge

Reek knows things. He did things, important things, but Theon will never thank him, not probably. Theon is prideful and ungrateful. He didn't approve of Reek's methods, as if-- as if _he_ could have-- endured

What use is your name when you don't want to know what you are?

\--

Theon gives it his best, really, it's true. All whittled free of arrogance, all haunted dedication. He moves in ways Reek couldn't. Reek observes.

Yara told him to rest.

And he is so tired. Very tired.

Theon would rather just get rid of Reek forever. Theon would murder his own self, if it would also kill Reek, but didn't you know? Haven't you learned? What is dead may never die. They are what they are, Theon Greyjoy is, _forever_. (Until you're rotting in the grave!) ha! Reek the Undying. Cursed to live.

So Reek will wait. He will watch, never far away. Watchful, watchful. Theon might not want Reek's help any more, not now, but Reek lives to serve. Horrible things will happen, they always do, and then Theon will certainly hide behind Reek, as before. He'll remember how. Reek is despairing but forgiving.

He will wait for Theon, until Theon is ready.

But for now--

finally,

\--Reek curls up to rest.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to SelkieWife / saltxwolf for [introducing me to Sea-Reek](https://saltxwolf.tumblr.com/post/187106423296/about-the-name-reek-so-poor-pykraken-had-to-hear), a concept referenced in this fic!


End file.
